Riddell's Division
by ThePro-LifeCatholic
Summary: The unsolvable mystery for Sherlock Holmes, the oft-quoted scene beloved by fans but never resolved...what is Lestrade's division? Is this a question that can be answered in a matter of time (and with sufficient information), or is this one of those few, far-between cases fated to be shrouded forever in mystery? A badly-timed phone call may answer this riddle once and for all...
1. A Badly-Timed Phone Call

**So…my sister and I have this headcanon that no one knows** _ **what**_ **Lestrade's division is. I mean, no one knows it anyway, but that's beside the point.**

 **ANYhoo, we have this theory, and we love it. We'll occasionally make a reference in our made-up ramblings together about Lestrade wearing a fedora to work or having this massive gun tucked in the trunk of his car…but I don't want to give too much away before you read the story. :)**

 **So let's get going then, shall we? I hope you enjoy!**

 **God bless and have a great day (or night)!  
ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

"I haven't seen him all morning."

Sherlock Holmes sighed with annoyance at Sergeant Sally Donovan's statement. Several other members of Scotland Yard were wandering around the crime scene, taking photographs of the evidence, dusting for fingerprints and such, asking the locals about the situation; in short, most of them were getting in Sherlock's way and being relatively useless.

It was DI Lestrade that Sherlock needed (wanted) to talk to. He was one of the few people who went along with Sherlock's many unique requirements, and didn't (usually) question his strange techniques, nor his incredible deductions. He was one of the very few, privileged human beings that came close to being a "friend" to the great consulting detective (but Sherlock's "one friend" list had already been filled, so Lestrade would have to stick with "very good acquaintance who I don't mock as much as almost everyone else").

"Did he talk about going anywhere? Any sudden change in his schedule?" It was John Watson talking now. The army doctor, the ever-faithful companion and one cherished friend of the detective, stood close by Sherlock Holmes. Sally shook her head.

"No, not that I'm aware of. Although…" she paused. "His vacation was scheduled for next week. It could've been possible that he got his weeks mixed up."

"Or simply wished to desert us earlier than usual," Sherlock piped up. "Typical Galen."

John and Sally shot each other a look.

"His name's Greg," Sally pointed out, pulling out her phone and beginning to stamp in Lestrade's number.

"Whatever." Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed again. John glared at his flat mate. How he managed to go from cold, calculating genius to whiny emo teenager (with no in between), John would never know.

Pushing the "call" button, Sally looked up to see that Sherlock already has his own phone up to his ear. Miffed, she hung up and shoved her own phone back into her coat pocket.

Sherlock tapped his foot impatiently, listening to the consecutive beeping on the other end of the line. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a familiar voice resounded through the cellular device.

"Hello? Who is this?"

Sherlock winced, pulling the phone back from his ear. Gr…Lestrade was nearly screaming into his phone.

"Lestrade?" he asked loudly, placing the phone against his head again.

"Yeah? Who is this? What do you want?" There was a lot of background noise going on wherever Lestrade was. Sherlock, purely from habit, began trying to deduce where the detective inspector could be.

"It's Sherlock, Lestrade. We're waiting at the scene of the crime; the one you talked to me about last night. Where are you?"

More noise.

"Sorry…couldn't make that out!" Lestrade's voice faded in and out. "D'you mind repeating that?"

Sally and John raised their eyebrows as Sherlock began yelling into the phone.

"OK, got it that time! I'm…uh…on vacation."

"That's next week!" Sherlock practically screamed into the phone. There was a long moment of silence, broken only by what sounded suspiciously like explosions and other background voices yelling. Sherlock could only catch a few words of the conversations.

"Watch…Karnfallas…extremely noxious…MY HAIR…"

"Next week? Darn it all!"

There was another pause. Sherlock's head was spinning.

"I'll…uh…I'll be in…uh…yeah. My office! I'll just be in my office!"

"Your office? This morning?" (Sally and John looked questioningly at each other) "But _where_ are you?!"

"Sorry, Sherlock; gotta go." As Lestrade's rushed voice sounded through the phone, Sherlock could plainly hear a woman on the other end of the line:

"Honey, taking a phone call at a time like this? Karnfallas aren't going to kill themselves, you know!"

"I know that, Neffy! Just a moment!" Lestrade replied.

"Riddell! We need you now!" another, softer voice called.

Sherlock opened his mouth to ask another question, but the dial tone sounded loudly in his ear. It was several moments before he pulled the phone away and put it in his pocket.

"What was that about, then?" Sally wanted to know.

"Where was he?" John queried.

Sherlock shook his head. "No idea," he murmured. This statement evoked true surprise on the part of the army doctor and the sergeant.

"He said he'd be in his office," Sherlock continued.

"But he's not in his office, is he?" Sally asked.

"I highly doubt it," Sherlock assured her. "Only one thing for it, then." He turned to John. "We're getting a cab to Scotland Yard."

"You're welcome to join me in my ride," Sally pointed out one of the cop cars. "I should slap him for gettin' his dates wrong."

So the three rode in a somewhat awkward silence to Scotland Yard. John looked out the window, Sally kept her eyes on the road, and Sherlock sat motionless in the back seat, hands folded, lost in thought.

When they reached the building, it took all of their self restraint to keep from running through the hallways to Lestrade's office. Pausing outside the door, they all looked at each other. Then Sally nodded, Sherlock and John squared their shoulders, and they pushed open the doors.

Lestrade was sitting in his chair, legs crossed on his desk, munching a donut. A cup of hot coffee sat on the desk, within easy reach of his free hand. He looked up as the trio walked in.

"How's the case going?" he asked cheerfully.

Sally, John, and even Sherlock were rendered speechless. The office doors swung shut behind them, and they stood in mute confusion. Greg looked questioningly at each one.

"Something the matter?" he enquired. Sherlock opened his mouth several times, eyes scanning the room. His gaze landed on the trash bin in the corner (the rim of a hat peeked out at him from the bin), then shifted to the detective inspector.

"Uh…no. Not at all. We were…just…uh," he turned to Sally and John for assistance.

"Just checking up on you, sir," Sally put forward. "You were late to work, and left us hangin' at the crime scene."

"I know, that was completely on me." Greg looked truly apologetic. "It won't happen again, I promise."

There was no response. The three simply nodded dumbly.

"So…let me just finish this," Lestrade waved the donut in the air, "and I'll be right over, alright?"

"Oh…yeah. Yeah. That should work. I mean…that will work. Yeah." John blinked and stuttered. Without another word, the flustered trio took their leave. But Sherlock cast one look back, his gaze fixed on the spot underneath Greg's desk. He could see a strange object, but was having trouble identifying it. After a moment of intense staring, the detective ducked out of the room, closing the door. But he paused a moment longer, standing just outside the detective inspector's office. From within, he heard a phone being dialed.

"Coming, Sherlock?" John called to his flat mate from the other end of the building. Sherlock waited just long enough to hear the beginning of Greg's phone call:

"Hey, Neffy. Nice work back there. Haven't had too much excitement, have you? No? That's what I wanted to hear. What about the construction of the Great Wall? Now _that's_ a sight worth seeing."

Sherlock rubbed his aching head, running to catch up with John Watson before Sally left without him.

* * *

 **I'm going to write a second chapter from Lestrade's point of view, but I hope you guys enjoy this first one! I think you guys will be able to figure out what's going on, but if you're having some trouble, here's a clue: "Dinosaurs on a Spaceship".**

 **I'll see you around for chapter 2!**


	2. Ready to Vacation

**So here's part II…or more accurately, "Lestrade's Perspective". If part I left you slightly confuzzled, hopefully I can clear up some things in this section.**

 **And this is the last part. I'm not adding anything more to this. It came to my head, I thought it'd be funny, so I wrote it. I intended it to be a one-shot (these aren't so much two different chapters as it is the same chapter from two different perspectives), and that's how it's going to stay.**

 **Thank you to all who read/favorited/followed/commented, or will do so in the future. :)**

 **God bless and have a great day (or night)!  
ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, nor do I own BBC Sherlock. If that were the case, I would've tried really hard to get the 10** **th** **Doctor to meet Sherlock, seeing as Ten happens to be my favorite Doctor. That, and John Riddell and Greg Lestrade would've been revealed to be the same person during some really climatic part of a Doctor Who and/or Sherlock episode. Wholock, you guys. :)**

* * *

 _The night before the time-frame of the chapter before this one…_

Sherlock, John, and Sally would have to cut Lestrade some slack; he really _did_ get his vacation days mixed up. He knew he had a couple days of freedom sometime during that current month; he just couldn't remember if it had been in the third week or the second week.

Turns out it was the third week.

He had shrugged it off, though, even after realizing his mistake. He had something much more pressing at hand, an event which he had attempted to schedule months ago. A few days of work could be sacrificed for the sake of such an important affair.

So after coming home from another stressful day at Scotland Yard, Greg Lestrade dumped his briefcase on the bed. The suit followed, and Lestrade went to his closet. Pushing past boring formal attire, he pulled a very Indiana-Jones-styled vest from the back corner of his wardrobe. Also tucked in the back was a fedora and a large canvas backpack, already packed. Greg grinned as he dusted off the hat and placed it on his head. On went the vest and a comfortable pair of khakis (both articles of clothing were equipped with an abundance of pockets).

Next, he crouched down next to the bed, peering into the dark space beneath. He pulled out a large, oddly shaped case and plopped it down on the bed. Snapping up the locks, he opened it. Almost lovingly, he lifted a large, very futuristic-looking gun from the case. He polished it, then placed it back with great care. Grabbing the case, shouldering the knapsack, adjusting his fedora, Greg took one final look about the place.

"Be back in a bit," he promised the emptiness. With a huge smile, he ducked into the outdoors.

Standing in the street outside, he couldn't help but wonder whether or not _he_ was coming. How many people had he traveled with? And where were they now? Lestrade wasn't a math whiz, but it didn't take much to calculate where _a_ and _b_ inevitably led. Could this be the final time? Standing out here…would this be the day that _he_ didn't show? Was last time…the last time?

A familiar, wheezing sound broke into his thoughts, and Greg's face cracked into an enormous smile. Last time wasn't last time; not this time around, anyway.

The blue box was parked on a nearby street corner. Greg ran to it, and stopped in front of the wooden doors. He started to adjust his baggage, but the doors opened (as if of their own accord), and a silhouetted figure stood on the threshold. He was wearing a tweed jacket, black pants, and matching red suspenders and bowtie.

"John Riddell!" the man chortled, flinging his arms out. Greg smiled back.

"I was thinking that maybe you weren't coming, Doctor," the DI explained, moving past the Doctor and into the blue box.

"Oh, no. Not today; not yet." With a snap of his fingers, the Doctor shut the doors. "Besides, I don't think I got to properly thank you for helping us during that dinosaur incident last time we met. And I never like to leave favors undone." The Doctor grinned, motioning behind him. "And I brought along a friend."

"Hey, Rory, look!" A redhead joined the two. "It's that Riddell guy!"

John Riddell/Greg Lestrade tipped his hat in greeting. "Nice to see you again, Amy. And please, call me John."

"Hi, John," Rory said, coming into the room. Behind him, a woman dressed like an illustration from the "Ancient Egyptian" section of a history book made her entrance.

Now, you're probably thinking that five people in a blue box would be very crowded and awkward, but not _this_ box. It was the TARDIS, the Doctor's space-ship (the Doctor was an alien), and it was bigger on the inside.

"Hi Rory," Riddell let his gear slide to the ground. "And hello Neffy," he breathed, taking his hat off to her. "You look gorgeous," he added, "As usual."

Neffy smirked. "Nice to see you too, Riddell," she responded.

"I brought some goodies for the ladies," Greg announced, opening the knapsack and digging around inside. He procured two small packages.

"Chocolate for Amy," he said, handing the first gift to Amy. Amy and Rory quickly undid the package, and were soon helping themselves to chunks of luscious chocolate (the Doctor helped himself to a handful as well).

"And for you, Neffy," he continued, bestowing his gift to her. Neffy unwrapped her gift, and gazed at the cell phone in her palm with wonder.

"What is it?"

"A communications device, so we can stay in touch even when you're in Egypt and I'm in 21st century London." He grinned, obviously very pleased with his choice of present. The Doctor's face went hard, and he snatched the phone from Queen Nefertiti's hand.

"What's that for?" John demanded hotly.

"A queen living in Ancient Egypt with a cell phone," the Doctor ground out coldly. "What do you think?" Without waiting for a reply, the Doctor pulled out his sonic, applied it to the phone, and handed it back to the Egyptian queen.

"There you go," he said, smiling. "Now you can call anyone, anytime, anywhere, so long as you know the area code."

"Thank you, Doctor," Riddell exclaimed.

"So, Riddell, enjoying 21st century London?" the Doctor queried.

"Actually, yes."

"Itching to get back into danger?"

Greg motioned to his case, as if that were explanation enough.

"Good. Now, Riddell; what do you know about Karnfallas?"

* * *

 **UPDATE: I decided that this chapter was getting too long, so I'm breaking it up into two different sections. This is part 1 of that section; the next (and final) part will be added fairly soon (I'm hoping sometime tomorrow or the day after).**

 **Thanks for your patience!**


	3. Badly-Timed Call (revised)

**There's a surprise bittersweet ending to this story. I really didn't see it coming; it sort of came out that way.**

 **Anyhoo, here's the (actual) last part. I hope you guys enjoy!**

 **God bless and have a great day (or night)!  
ThePro-LifeCatholic**

* * *

 **JesuslovesMarina:** **Writing this out, it seems like it's John Riddell, living a double life as Greg Lestrade. But even I don't really know who came first. I'll leave it up to the reader's imagination. Also, I'm probably gonna go check out your new story now…*grins evilly and rubs hands together***

* * *

 _The morning of Sherlock's badly-timed phone call…_

…It had been only a few hours after Lestrade had gone off with the Doctor, Amy, Rory, and Queen Nefertiti.

And he had told the Doctor not to try communicating to Karnfallas. They were extremely aggressive, intolerant creatures. They were solitary, unless they felt threatened. If this was the case, Karnfallas would come from miles away and join into one large destructive horde of savage carnage. They had wings, but only the juveniles could fly, which was a bit of a win/lose situation right there.

Any pros? Well, they had no sense of smell.

Cons? They had remarkably keen sight and hearing. So the best you could do was try to sneak close enough to get a killing shot, hoping like heck the whole time that they wouldn't hear you stepping on daisies.

And he had told him. Riddell had told the Doctor numerous times not to try negotiating with them. He peered from behind a rock, leveling his huge gun. An enormous blast rocketed across the plain; several Karnfallas fell motionless to the ground. John grinned; a Karnfalla wing would be perfect in his collection.

It was about now that his phone began to ring.

He could've sworn that he had turned it off, or left it in the TARDIS, but it was definitely in one of his (many) pockets, and it was most certainly ringing.

He cowered down behind the rock, digging through his pockets, finally fishing out his cell phone. Without stopping to look at the number, he pressed the "call" button and put the phone against his ear.

"Hello? Who is this?" he yelled, hoping his voice was louder than the noise around him.

There was no response for a moment, allowing John Riddell to take an assessment of how everyone else was doing. Amy and Rory were sticking together, weaving in and out between rocks, tree stumps; basically anything on that relatively flat and empty field that they were currently in. The Doctor was running around with his sonic extended, doing…well…something.

"Lestrade?" a voice cackled into the device. Distracted, Greg returned to the conversation.

"Yeah? Who is this? What do you want?"

The voice came again, and Riddell's stomach lurched unexpectedly.

 _Sherlock. Sherlock was calling him._

"RIDDELL, BEHIND YOU!" a voice screamed from somewhere. Twisting his head up and around, Riddell was just in time to see a young Karnfalla getting ready to dive down (probably with the intention of smashing him flat). A blast from his cannon-like shotgun quickly resolved that threat. Picking up his phone (it had dropped to the ground), he put it back up to his ear. Sherlock was just finishing a sentence (or whole bunch of sentences).

"Sorry," Greg roared into the device, "couldn't make that out!" In the background, several Karnfallas screeched loudly, rounding up the herd. "D'you mind repeating that?"

He listened attentively as Sherlock explained their predicament. Apparently, Mr. Holmes, John Watson, Sally, and some other Scotland Yard people were investigating a crime scene. But Lestrade couldn't see what that had to do with him. Wasn't Sherlock happier the less people there were, anyway?

"OK, got it that time! I'm…uh…" Riddell looked around, trying to imagine Sherlock's face if he told him what was _really_ going on over on his end of the line. "…I'm on vacation."

"That's next week!" the voice responded. Lestrade _knew_ that it was next week, darn it. He didn't need Sherlock reminding him of that. From beyond the rock, the Doctor had managed (somehow) to get on top of one of Karnfallas, and dashing to and fro, trying to knock the Doctor off of its back. Pulling a hat from nowhere, the Doctor proceeding to ride the alien monster bronco-style.

"Watch out!" Neffy was yelling. "Karnfallas are extremely noxious (noxious is a fancy word for deadly)!"

"MY HAIR!" Amy screamed from somewhere. She had just noticed that her beautiful ginger hair had changed to a light shade of purple (Riddell told them to stay out of the bushes. Rostria plants caused…unusual defensive side effects when touched).

Oh, right! Conversation!

"Next week? Darn it all! I'll…uh…I'll be in…uh…yeah. My office! I'll be in my office!" (Highly doubtful. Also, he had no clue how he was getting there that morning. And of course Sherlock would question this. He really needed better cover-ups).

Riddell decided it would be better to end the call right then and there. "Sorry, Sherlock; gotta go." Before he could hang up, however, Nefertiti ran over to him.

"Honey, taking a phone call at a time like this? Karnfallas aren't going to kill themselves, you know!"

"I know that Neffy!" Riddell snapped. "Just a moment!"

"Riddell! We need you now!" the Doctor called in the background. Looking behind him, John sighed to see Rory being lifted into the air by several Karnfallas, and Amy freaking out about her hair and the safety of her husband.

Pressing "end call", Riddell dropped the phone into a pocket, and cocked his gun.

"Alright, Karnfallas; ready for mounting?"

* * *

Several hours and a perfectly preserved Karnfalla wing later, John Riddell, Amelia and Rory Pond, and Queen Nefertiti were sitting in the TARDIS. Random pedestrians in 21st century London strolled by, not seeming to notice the out-of-place police box that had randomly appeared next to a café. The Doctor was inside the small restaurant at that very moment, purchasing coffee and donuts for everyone. Lestrade finished polishing his beautiful weapon, placing it gently into the case and snapping it shut. He made sure that all his belongings were packed away, and admired the lovely wing. It was the perfect addition to his collection.

"How am I supposed to be seen like this?" Amy moaned, gazing at her purple locks. No one said anything about Rory's neon green hair.

"I told you, it'll fade in a couple hours, nothing to worry about," Riddell shook his head. "And you're lucky. Prolonged exposure creates even more problems than hair color."

"What sort of problems?" Mrs. Pond wanted to know. Instead of answering her question, Greg went to the TARDIS doors and peeked out. The Doctor was just exiting the shop as a cop car sped by. John Riddell leaned out of the TARDIS, trying to make out the figures in the passing car.

"It's Sherlock!" he exclaimed, retreating into the TARDIS. "Sherlock's on his way to Scotland Yard!"

He explained his predicament to the Doctor, who immediately started up the ship. Several seconds later, he snapped his fingers, revealing the interior of Scotland Yard beyond the doors.

Lestrade jumped out, followed by the Doctor and Neffy.

"See you around, Neffy," Lestrade smiled. "I'll call you when I get the chance."

"Will do." The Egyptian queen smirked.

"I'll hold your coffee and donut," the Doctor stated. So Lestrade shouldered his bags and dashed through the hallways of the building. The Doctor followed closely behind, coffee sloshing out of the cup and onto the carpet and his hands.

When they reached Lestrade's office, Riddell stepped inside and shut the door. He pulled a white shirt, dress pants and belt, and a pair of work shoes from his knapsack. After putting these on, he took off his Indiana-Jones vest and turned it inside-out. The reversible side looked just like a vest; this went on over the shirt. Opening the door, he took the coffee and donut from the Doctor's hands.

"Thanks, Doc," he said, shaking the alien's wet hands.

"No problem," the Doctor responded warmly.

"You know, I have a couple days of vacation next week," Lestrade said. "I was thinking maybe we could see the Great Wall. I know Neffy would love it."

"I'll see what I can do," the Doctor promised. Without waiting for another word, the bowtie-wearing alien spun on his heel and ran back the way he came.

Lestrade showed himself into his office. He tossed the knapsack and gun-case underneath the desk. Collapsing into the chair, he threw his legs up onto the wooden surface of his desk, and took a huge bite of donut (which he quickly gulped down). With his other hand, he reached up to rub down his hair.

 _The hat!_

Yanking the fedora off his head, Riddell tossed it into the wastepaper basket. He grabbed his cup of coffee, putting it to his lips just as the door opened.

The looks on Sherlock's, John's, and Sally's faces were priceless. How he wished he had his phone.

"How's the case going?" he asked cheerfully.

Sally, John, and even Sherlock were rendered speechless. The office doors swung shut behind them, and they stood in mute confusion. Greg looked questioningly at each one.

"Something the matter?" he enquired. Sherlock opened his mouth several times, eyes scanning the room. His gaze landed on the trash bin in the corner (the rim of a hat peeked out at him from the bin), then shifted to the detective inspector.

"Uh…no. Not at all. We were…just…uh," he turned to Sally and John for assistance.

"Just checking up on you, sir," Sally put forward. "You were late to work, and left us hangin' at the crime scene."

"I know, that was completely on me." Greg looked truly apologetic. "It won't happen again, I promise."

There was no response. The three simply nodded dumbly.

"So…let me just finish this," Lestrade waved the donut in the air, "and I'll be right over, alright?"

"Oh…yeah. Yeah. That should work. I mean…that will work. Yeah." John blinked and stuttered. Without another word, the flustered trio took their leave. But Sherlock cast one look back, his gaze fixed on the spot underneath Greg's desk. He could see a strange object, but was having trouble identifying it. After a moment of intense staring, the detective ducked out of the room, closing the door.

With a sigh of relief, Lestrade sunk further into his chair. Then he pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number.

"Hey, Neffy. Nice work back there."

"Why thank you," the Egyptian queen replied. "You didn't do too badly yourself."

"Haven't had too much excitement, have you?" he queried.

"As if," Nefertiti laughed.

"Just what I wanted to hear."

"Alright, Walking Innuendo; what's on your mind now?"

"What about the construction of the Great Wall? Now _that's_ a sight worth seeing."

The conversation drifted on, and John Riddell found himself thinking:

 _What if this time…is last time?_

He considered this. He would definitely miss seeing the Doctor and his friends, not to mention Neffy…

But she was an Egyptian empress from B.C. It simply wouldn't have worked out, not in the long-term sense.

And he found himself picturing Sherlock's shocked face. He grinned at the memory of John's stuttering and spluttering, and Sally's open-mouthed confusion.

Greg Lestrade slid further into his chair, biting off another chunk of donut. Greg Lestrade, in 21st century London, DI of Scotland Yard.

If last time was last time, he still had a heck of a life worth living right here.

* * *

 **Right, then. Last part. That stretched into a rather long chapter, but I like how it turned out. Hope you guys enjoyed!**


End file.
